


you take me where the kingdom comes

by blackkat



Series: Xanatos prompts [2]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Flirting, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Scheming, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:27:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28013922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: “Everything okay?” Granta asks as Xanatos makes his way down the steps from the Council’s tower.
Relationships: Jaster Mereel/Xanatos (Star Wars)
Series: Xanatos prompts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2051622
Comments: 26
Kudos: 534





	you take me where the kingdom comes

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: Reluctantly a Jedi!Xanatos/Jaster and getting yanked back in time with his son because of Obi-wan's mess of a Padawan was honestly to he expected at this point. The best he could do was 'join' the Order again and use their resources while he ousted a Sith. If this involved a rather dashing Mandalorian king, well. Only Granta was witness to it, and suffering was good for the soul.

“Everything okay?” Granta asks as Xanatos makes his way down the steps from the Council’s tower.

Xanatos grimaces faintly, reaching up to pull his hood back. He pauses as Granta slides off the pedestal of one of the small water features, waiting for his son to leap down the steps and join him. “The Council agreed,” he says, letting Granta slide up right against his side. It’s fine; Granta is a Force Blank, and no Jedi will even remember they saw him. “Without any protests, astonishingly. I suppose even they can recognize a good idea when it’s waved under their noses enough times.”

Granta is silent as they make their way down the hall, glancing out the window towards the point where the Temple collides with the messy edges of Coruscant. Xanatos refuses to acknowledge the way he’s missed the Temple, even now, or the way his heart still kicks in his chest from the brief meeting with his younger self, still bright and ambitious and convinced he’s the cleverest person in the Order by a league. Everything is according to plan, and he’s _fine_ —

“He was there, wasn’t he?” Granta says, blue eyes too sharp as he looks up at Xanatos. “Jinn.”

“Not on the Council, at the very least,” Xanatos says, and if it’s vicious around the edges, well. Granta certainly won't mind. “But yes, my old Master was indeed making himself Windu's headache again. It’s astonishing no one’s tipped him into a fountain yet, given the way he smells like a nesting rancor.”

Granta snickers, one hand catching Xanatos’s sleeve as Xanatos turns towards a the bridge connecting the Council’s tower to the next, one that stands beneath an ornate arch and is guarded by a statue of a Nautolan holding an open book and a crystal. Once, Xanatos might have scoffed, but—well. A year already pretending at being a full Jedi Knight has twisted him all up into knots, and he resents the lack of resentment deeply.

The statues are starting to be something _nostalgic_ , rather than something ostentatious, and Xanatos privately wonders if they always were and youth blinded him, or if he’s just—horror of horrors—actually _becoming_ a Jedi.

“Maybe I should do it,” Granta suggests, and that smile is just as wicked as his mother’s. It makes Xanatos snort, and he brushes a hand over dark hair, then pushes open the door at the far end of the bridge and lets them both in. The hush of the Archives is tangible, but peaceful instead of oppressive, and if Xanatos listens, he can make out the murmur of voices in discussion, the rustle of ancient paper and the light pad of steps, and it’s—well. Not objectionable, at least. He used to think it was, as a child.

Apparently he was more of a brat than he’d ever thought, even before Qui-Gon murdered his father in front of him.

“If you do it, I will buy you sweets for a _year_ ,” Xanatos promises, and Granta nods agreeably, eyes bright with the promise of mayhem. He slips behind the flare of Xanatos’s dark robes as they approach the main desk, and Xanatos straightens, lets the robe fall a little more dramatically to give him somewhere to hide. Granta seems to have an abiding fear of Madame Nu, though he won't tell Xanatos why. Potentially something he saw while he was wandering the Temple, not that Xanatos was able to get a straight answer as to _what_ that thing was. He doesn’t precisely blame Granta, either; Madame Nu is ancient and _terrifying_. She once threatened Qui-Gon with a karking _lightsaber rifle_ for destroying one of her books, and Xanatos had nightmares for a full month.

It’s that memory that adds a touch of respect to Xanatos’s voice as he clears his throat and says politely, “Madame Nu. Eviscerated any Masters yet today?”

Jocasta raises her head from one of the terminals, arching an amused brow at Xanatos. “Knight Xanatos. The morning is still young, I fear.”

Xanatos smiles despite himself. “I have complete faith in you,” he says, and Jocasta chuckles and straightens.

“Here for help with materials?” she asks. “How can I assist you today?”

“The location of the Mand’alor,” Xanatos says, and takes a swift step back as her eyes narrow sharply. “The Council sent me to be his escort?”

The last word almost breaks on a squeak, but given that the last time Xanatos saw that expression it was behind the sight of one of the Order’s most powerful and ridiculous weapons, he thinks he can be forgiven.

“The Mand’alor,” Jocasta says reprovingly, “is availing himself of the public sections, and is not allowed to take one step beyond the doorway. Be a dear and be sure he doesn’t, Xanatos.”

“Yes, Madame Nu,” Xanatos says dutifully, and slips out of her line of sight, beating a quick retreat towards the section of the Archive reserved for those who aren’t part of the Order. It’s a relatively small section compared to the size of the rest of it, but still large enough that he pauses at the doorway, trying to feel out any non-Jedi minds within.

With a few quick steps, Granta separates himself from Xanatos’s cloak, ducking around to put Xanatos between himself and the distant desk. “I think she can _see_ me,” he says, mildly alarmed.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Xanatos says, though it’s a little more doubtful than it probably should be. “No Force-sensitive can see you. She just has that sort of stare.”

Granta pulls a face that says very clearly what he thinks of _that_ theory, but before Xanatos can object, he tugs on Xanatos’s sleeve and says, “Over there. He has the red and black armor, right?”

“I believe so,” Xanatos allows, and follows as Granta hurries down a row of shelves. The potential weight of this encounter is enough to be unpleasant; Xanatos was never expecting both himself and Granta to get dragged through the time stream by Obi-Wan’s rat of a barely-redeemed apprentice, dumped here without warning or the ability to prepare or _plan_. Not that that’s illogical; Anakin Skywalker likely thinks a plan is something that requires salting and can be purchased from a Coruscanti food cart.

Still, this is the best of all the plans Xanatos could come up with, and it has the added advantage of removing him from Coruscant while he finalizes things. Xanatos needs space to bring the full weight of the changes he’s made into play, and finally getting that, plus the assistance of the ruler of Mandalore, can only be a good thing.

“Oh!” Granta says, around the next corner between the rows. “Sorry, sir.”

That’s his innocent voice, and Xanatos contains his snort and picks up his pace, rounding the corner in time to see Granta tripping back, like he almost ran into the tall man in Mandalorian armor who’s just turning to look at him. Deftly, Xanatos catches Granta with a hand on back, and says, “Granta, be _careful_.”

“Sorry,” Granta says, and actually sounds like he means it. It’s a skill Xanatos has certainly never mastered. But it’s also the perfect opening, and Xanatos doesn’t hesitate to take it, giving the new Mand’alor his most charming smile.

“My apologies,” he says, and dips into a polite bow. “Mand’alor Jaster Mereel, yes?”

A dark brow rises, and Jaster sweeps a look over Xanatos, hard to read even though Xanatos can feel the curl of his emotions beneath his skin. “Indeed,” he says, and closes the book he’s holding, turning to face them. “I'm afraid I haven’t had the pleasure of your acquaintance. You’re not one of the harridan’s, I take it?”

Well. Xanatos can certainly mark him down for boundless bravery, if he’s insulting Jocasta Nu in her own Archives. “Jedi Knight Xanatos,” he says, “and my son, Granta.”

Something interested flickers over Jaster's face. “Son? I hadn’t thought the Order allowed such things.”

“They don’t, for the most part,” Xanatos says, laying a hand on Granta’s shoulder. “But Granta is a Force Blank, and would be in danger if left to grow up outside the Temple.”

Amusement turns Jaster's mouth. “Had I known there were children besides Jedi younglings here, I would have brought my own son,” he says. “As it was, I expected he’d be bored to tears within the first ten minutes.”

Granta wrinkles his nose, but Xanatos makes a sound of amusement. “Not scholarly in his inclinations?” he asks dryly.

Jaster's sigh is part amusement and part aggrieved patience. “He is a joy and the pride of my clan, but no, not precisely.”

Jango Fett, Xanatos thinks. And—that sounds about right, from Xanatos’s memories of him. “Well,” he says judiciously, and when Granta casts him an alarmed look, Xanatos smirks at him. “Granta needs to be encouraged to look _beyond_ books, more frequently than not. If you’re planning to return, bring your son and we can inflict them on each other.”

Humor is bright in Jaster's face. “And how should we occupy ourselves, while they're elsewhere?” he asks gravely, and Granta groans.

Startled, Xanatos laughs, not expecting such low-hanging fruit to be offered up. “I believe two clever men can find a way,” he says slyly.

Jaster hums, offering a hand, and Xanatos can't help but be intrigued. He takes it, and Jaster pulls him a step closer, watching him closely.

“You're sure that you're a Jedi?” he asks, low, and it’s very inconvenient that Xanatos’s libido can't tell if it’s meant to be flirting or a threat.

“I have a _property of the Jedi Order_ tramp stamp, would you like to see it?” Xanatos retorts, and Jaster chuckles. He skims rough fingertips across Xanatos’s palm, then pulls back.

“My aide will yell at me if I sleep with an agent of the enemy,” he says, and when Xanatos raises a brow, he smiles. It’s entirely more attractive than Xanatos was expecting. “You're here on the witch’s orders, aren’t you?”

“Sent to keep you confined to the public section of the Archives,” Xanatos admits without hesitation or shame.

“Hmm.” Jaster surveys him for a moment, then says, with an edge of a dare that makes Xanatos’s skin prickle, “Well. It would certainly be a shame if I seduced you to my side, wouldn’t it?”

“Seduction?” Xanatos asks, amused. “I hope you realize I'm hardly a cheap tumble, Mand’alor.”

“ _Dad_ ,” Granta says, horrified, and this at least isn't something they planned, but—a bonus. Xanatos never got to inflict the trauma of parental flirting on his son the first time around, after all.

Jaster laughs, and it warms his face. “I believe I can afford an expensive habit,” he counters, and steps back. “Until tomorrow, Xanatos.”

“Until tomorrow, Mand’alor,” Xanatos says, and—

This wasn’t precisely part of the plan, but. Well. Their lineage does have a gift for improvisation.


End file.
